


All the Light and Shade That Made Your Name

by rockmusicplays



Series: Lonely In Your Nightmare [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Peter Hale may have a heart after all, Stalia, Stiles is an excelent sort-of boyfriend, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockmusicplays/pseuds/rockmusicplays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia is trying to move on with her life. To do that, she needs to put old ghosts to rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Light and Shade That Made Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> So, it looks like this is going to be a series now. I'm aiming for 5 parts, and I'll try to get the next one up soon. Comments keep me motivated.
> 
> Title borrowed from Duran Duran's _Lonely in Your Nightmare._

Stiles peered out at Malia's childhood home from the backseat of Derek's SUV. Malia was in the passenger seat, bundled up against the December chill in a dark gray pea coat, black faux-leather boots, and a thick purple scarf with matching knit cap and mittens.

Lydia had shown up at the loft the week before while Stiles had been over watching movies with Malia on his laptop. She'd spent the morning doing a little shopping on Peter's dime. Along with the winter gear, there were a few sweaters, two pairs of jeans, a couple of dresses, some t-shirts, leggings, a pair of flats, and a bag of other items Stiles assumed belonged under clothing since Malia took a peek at the contents without actually pulling anything out.

It was still unclear how exactly Lydia had managed to talk Peter in to handing over his credit card, but Stiles had learned long ago never to doubt her powers of persuasion. Whether it had been sweet talking or threats, Malia had been grateful all the same.

Since leaving Eichen House to help save Stiles from the Nogitsune, she'd been hiding out at Derek's. Having technically broken out, Malia was currently both a missing child and an escaped mental patient, which made going out in public problematic.

The only clothing she had was the outfit she'd worn the day she was admitted to the institution, and some of the standard-issue hospital wear she'd accumulated. It hadn't really been an issue so far, since aside from venturing out to the Hale house with the rest of the pack during the full moon, Malia had spent her time lounging around the loft in various cozy items borrowed from Derek, Stiles, and Scott.

Deaton had worked out a theory regarding the eight years Malia had spent living as a coyote. There was plenty of lore regarding the different shapes a werewolf could take on during a shift, and just as many legends of wolves that found themselves trapped in animal form for various reasons. A spell or curse could keep a werewolf from returning to their human shape, and sometimes it was by choice, a way to escape from pain.

Most of the stories were dramatic tales of a lost mate or child, or a deep betrayal. The kind of heartbreak a person can never really come back from. Not completely.

In much the same way the circumstances of Jackson's birth caused the bite to turn him into a Kanima instead of a wolf, the trauma of Malia's first shift left her in a sort of fugue state. Instead of going back to being a little girl when the sun came up, Malia became something else. Her coyote pelt was a defense mechanism, which explained why she hadn't been able to change back after Scott had Alpha'd her into a teenager that day in the woods.

The more time Derek spent teaching her to use her senses and shift at will, the more obvious it became that she was an ordinary werewolf, not a werecoyote. Malia had been livid when Deaton told her what he'd come up with because it meant she was stuck living a human life.

Malia had two options. She could either hold onto her grief and her guilt and end up back at Eichen House, or come clean to her dad about what really happened the night her mother and sister died and start trying to build a life for herself in Beacon Hills.

Scott had made sure she knew she had a place in his pack if she wanted it, and Lydia offered to help her get caught up enough to be able to enroll at BHHS next fall and graduate with them.

Malia had gone with door number two, which was what brought them to the Tate residence.

"I don't think I can do this," she said softly, pressing herself against the seat back like she was hoping it would swallow her up and save her from the conversation she was about to have. Stiles undid his seatbelt and leaned over the center console. Her anxiety was palpable, filling the vehicle's interior like a living thing and creeping under Stiles' skin.

"You can't keep putting it off," Derek told her. His tone was firm, but his expression was sympathetic. Malia had been struggling with the decision to tell her father the truth for the better part of three weeks, and Stiles knew it was killing Derek that he couldn't do anything to make this easier for her. Mostly because Stiles felt the same way.

"You're not alone." Stiles took hold of her hands, rubbing her fingers between his. Her internal thermostat was still out of whack, and Stiles knew that even with the mittens and the cotton gloves she had on under them, her hands would still be cold. Malia twisted in her seat so she could rest her forehead against his. "It'll be okay," he promised.

"He's going to hate me," she insisted.

"He loves you," Derek said. "Nothing you say to him today will change that."

"Even when I tell him I'm not really his?"

Whatever Derek's reply would have been went unsaid as Mr. Tate stepped out on to the front porch. He must have finally noticed the strange SUV sitting at the end of his driveway.

"Well, it's show time." Stiles gave Malia what he hoped was a reassuring grin. The few interactions he'd had with Tate while he and Scott were trying to help his dad had been less than enjoyable. Grief wasn't an emotion that generally brought out the best in a person, so Stiles had tried not to judge him too harshly. He just hoped that having Malia back, however briefly, had softened some of his edges. If not, this was _really_ going to suck.

Derek was already out of the car and halfway up the gravel drive by the time Stiles and Malia got their doors open. Tate took one look at his daughter and bolted down the steps, pulling her into a fierce hug. Stiles awkwardly side-stepped around them, joining Derek at the front of the house.

"So far, so good," said Stiles. Derek looked grimmer than usual, and Stiles sighed. This could only end badly. Too much of what had to be said was flat out awful, and there was no way to sugarcoat any of it.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tate demanded, holding Malia by the shoulders and looking her over. Derek and the pack had been taking good care of her, and it showed. That only seemed to upset Tate more. Whatever he'd been expecting when his daughter finally turned up again, this clearly wasn't it.

"It's kind of a long story," Malia said. "But I'm okay. I've been... safe," she added, a little uncertainly. Tate had his back to the boys, but from the way that Malia was hunching in on herself, the look Tate was giving her was not as understanding as they'd been hoping for.

"Could we maybe talk about this inside?" Stiles called out to him. "It's freezing out here." Tate spun around like he'd forgot Malia hadn't come here alone. He started walking back towards the house, Malia at his heels, stopping short when he was close enough to see who exactly was standing on his front lawn.

"You're the sheriff's kid," he said accusingly, and Stiles cringed. Tate had been witness to some of his and Scott's less than stellar amateur detective work, and he obviously hadn't forgotten about it.

"Hi, Mr. Tate. It's uh, it's nice to be seeing you again," Stiles said weakly, taking an instinctive step back and putting Derek between him and his sort-of girlfriend's seriously angry father.

Sheriff Stilinski had been handling Malia's case personally, mostly to avoid having anyone actually find her. He wasn't very happy about it. He was still under investigation at work, and having to pretend he had no idea his own son had been in contact with her the entire time was definitely not going to do anything to help the situation. Tate looked about ready to tell him exactly that when Derek spoke up.

"Malia has been staying with me, Mr. Tate."

"Excuse me?" If he'd been pissed off a second ago, Tate was downright furious now. "And who the hell are you?"

"I'm Derek Hale." That seemed to throw Tate a little. The entire town knew the Hales. The fire had made them infamous, but like Derek and his sisters, Talia, Peter, and their cousins had grown up here. So had their mother and her siblings.

"What have you been doing with my daughter?" Tate's voice was hard, but he sounded more resigned than angry, like whatever Derek had to say couldn't be worse than the conclusions he'd already made for himself.

"Trying to help," Derek replied.

"Has she been with you this whole time?"

"Yes."

"And it didn't occur to you until now that the kind of help she needs might require a medical license?" Tate snapped. "Or was that why you decided to bring her home with you in the first place?"

"Ew! Dad! No, Derek is m-" Malia caught herself before the rest of that thought made it out of her mouth. One issue at a time.

"Malia doesn't belong in an institution, Mr. Tate," Stiles jumped in. "Derek knew that, so he gave her a place to stay until he was ready to talk to you about coming home for good."

"You stay out this! You're the reason my daughter went missing in the first place!"

Morel had come up with a cover story to get Stiles off the hook for the Nogitsune attacking an orderly back at Eichen House. Something about Stiles sleepwalking and Malia finding him wandering the halls, and the two of them using the chaos in the early minutes of the lock down to slip out.

Malia was supposedly the mastermind of their joint escape since she'd taken her stuff with her and Stiles hadn't. Both of them had disappeared for a few days immediately afterward, so Stiles hadn't been lying outright when he gave his statement saying that he hadn't seen Malia after they left the institution.

"Don't blame Stiles for this. Leaving was my idea," Malia insisted. "Please, can we just go inside and talk? I promise I can explain everything."

"It had better be a damn good explanation." Tate ushered the three werewolves into the house, catching his madly barking dog by the collar and dragging him down the hallway to lock him in one of the back rooms when he refused to calm down.

The wolves settled themselves on the sofa, Malia in the middle. Tate sat across from them in an armchair. "Start talking."

"I need you to let me tell my story before you start asking questions, okay?" Malia began. "And I need you to listen. Really listen."

Tate leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and inclined his head, silently accepting her terms.

"When you asked me what happened the night Mom and Kylie died, I told you the truth."

"Malia..." Tate said, annoyed.

"Just listen!" Malia demanded. "After the accident, I ran. I was terrified, and I ran. I found an abandoned coyote warren a mile or so away from the crash site, and I hid there. I was afraid that if anyone found me, they'd kill me. And when I woke up, I wasn't me anymore. I was a coyote."

"Malia," Tate said again, sounding desperate. "We've talked about this. That's not possible."

"I spent the next eight years as a coyote. I lived in that warren, and I tried to forget about what I'd done," Malia continued, ignoring her father's interruption. "But then Stiles and Scott found me, found my home. They figured out what I was, and Scott made me change back.

We weren't attacked by an animal that night. I _was_ the animal. Mom didn't know what he was, so she didn't know what I was either. It was a full moon, and I shifted while Mom was driving. That's why we crashed. That's why the police thought coyotes had come during the night and, and..." Malia choked back a sob. Stiles slid his arm around her waist, and she sagged against him, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

"What does that mean, she didn't know what he was. Who's he?" Tate had gone pale, and he was staring at Malia like she was some stranger who'd plopped down on his sofa and started spouting nonsense at him, and he didn't know how to make her stop.

"My biological father."

That appeared to be the last straw. Tate stood up so fast the armchair skidded back a couple of inches. Malia flinched, pressing herself against Stiles' side. For once in his life, Stiles was at a loss for words. There was nothing he could tell either of the Tates that would be even remotely helpful right now.

"What did you just say?" Tate shouted. Derek got to his feet, ready to put himself between the younger Betas and Tate if he showed any sign of coming around the coffee table at them. Derek may not have been the Alpha anymore, but the instinct to protect was still very much a part of him. It had been for as long as Stiles had known him.

"I'm sorry," Malia whimpered. "I'm so sorry. But you needed to know. I need you to understand what happened. I need you to understand what I am, and why I can't go back to Eichen House."

"I don't understand any of this, Malia!" Tate shot back. "What you're saying, it doesn't make any goddamn sense!"

"I'm a werewolf! I was born a werewolf, and when I changed for the first time, I killed my mother and my little sister! I can't make it any clearer than that!" There were tears rolling down Malia's cheeks, and the sight made Stiles want to break something. Starting with Tate's face if he didn't wipe the look of horror and disgust off of it.

Tate collapsed into the armchair, head in his hands. "That's not possible," he said, voice muffled. "There's no such thing. You're sick, Malia. You're sick, and you need help. You need to go back to Eichen and-"

"Look at me!" Malia cut him off, pushing away from Stiles and drying her tears on the sleeve of her coat. "Look. At. Me," she repeated. When Tate finally met her gaze, Malia shut her eyes in concentration, pulling off her mitts.

The seconds dragged by. And then her features began to change. Tate let out a startled gasp, and when Malia opened her eyes again, they were bright blue. Her hands were shaking when she held them up so that Tate could see her claws, and let her mouth fall open to reveal elongated canines.

"I'm not sick. I'm cursed."

Stiles had always thought the faint lisp that speaking around fangs gave the werewolves was hysterical, and despite the circumstances, he found himself struggling not to laugh. It came out as sort of a choked-off squeak that only Derek seemed to notice. The older Beta gave him a disapproving glare, and Stiles shrugged helplessly. The guy should be used to Stiles doing and saying completely inappropriate things at inappropriate times by now.

"What are you?" Tate looked ready to throw up.

"She's one of us," Derek replied, allowing himself to slip into the same partial change Malia had. Tate made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan, turning his attention to Stiles.

"You too?"

"Sorry," Stiles said. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to focus the way Scott had been showing him, waiting for the press of sharpened incisors against his bottom lip that told him he been successful. He gave Tate an apologetic wave with one clawed hand.

After a few long, tense moments, Derek shifted back and said, "Malia is still learning control. If you send her back to Eichen House, people will die."

"More people, you mean," Tate replied bitterly.

"Dad, I-"

"Don't. Just, don't," Tate interrupted. "I don't want to hear any more. I just want to know who did this to my family." The look he gave Derek was one of raw despair. "Who made her into this, this thing?"

Derek clenched his jaw, giving himself a second to move past the 'thing' comment before responding. "Her birth father. My uncle, Peter Hale."

"Get out."

"Mr. Tate..." Stiles started, scrambling to find something, anything that could salvage this.

"Get out," he said again. There was no heat, no emotion behind the words. "All of you. Just, get out of my house."

Malia made, a soft, wounded sound, her wolf features melting away. Tate stood up and left, heading in the direction Stiles vaguely remember led to his bedroom. A low rumble filled the room, and it wasn't until Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and squeezed that he realize the noise was coming from him. He'd shifted the rest of the way, and he was growling.

"Get it together, Stiles," Derek ordered, grip tightening to the point of pain. He snarled at Derek, trying to push his arm away. The older Beta gave him a shake and flashed his eyes in warning. "Stop it. We need to leave."

"Stiles, please," Malia whispered. Stiles slid his hand along the sofa until it brushed against Malia's leg. She pulled in into her lap and laced their fingers together. Derek let go and took a step back, allowing Malia to tug Stiles in closer and run her free hand through his hair until he relaxed enough to pull himself back.

~ ~ ~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Malia asked as Stiles unlocked the front door.

The only stipulation Sheriff Stilinksi had made regarding his helping to hide Malia was that she not come back to the house until the situation had been dealt with. Considering the only time she had been here, the sheriff found her asleep in his son's bed - with his son - it wasn't all that unreasonable of a request.

Stiles was fairly certain that traumatizing Mr. Tate and getting kicked off his property didn't actually qualify as dealing with the situation. But given how badly their attempt at doing so had gone, he figured his dad could hardly fault him for trying to cheer Malia up.

"Absolutely. Nothing to worry about, I swear." Stiles guided her over the threshold with a hand against the small of her back. He'd spent the entire drive back to his Jeep - which had been left in the school parking lot - trying to come up with a way to take Malia's mind off of the whole debacle.

What he'd eventually settled on was cheesy and just a tad childish, but he had high hopes for success. His numerous failed attempts at wooing Lydia had given him lots of practice, and the knowledge that even when things didn't go exactly according to plan, he was pretty good at doing and saying the right thing when it really mattered.

Taking hold of Malia's hand, Stiles led her up the stairs to his bedroom and sat her down at his computer desk.

"So, here's the deal," he said, powering up his laptop and opening the web browser. "You're going to order us pizza and whatever else you feel like eating with it. And then you're going to hang out up here until I come get you."

"Where are you going?" she asked, unbuttoning her coat.

"Nowhere. I'm gonna be downstairs setting up."

"Setting up what?"

"It's a surprise," he told her, pulling up the pizza place's website and logging on to his account. "Okay. Go nuts. I'll see you soon." Stiles pulled off her hat and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And no peeking," he warned.

Malia rolled her eyes. "As long as you're done by the time the pizza gets here. I'm starving."

"I think I can handle that," Stiles replied.

Given that it was a Friday night, and it would probably take Malia at least fifteen minutes to put the order through, Stiles would have the better part of an hour to round up the necessary supplies and figure out how to assemble everything. It had been a few years since he'd done this last, and he'd never tried to do it without Scott before.

The first step was raiding the linen closet and the guest room. He dragged the dining room chairs into the living room and pushed the coffee table off to one side. After a solid half hour of cursing, arranging and rearranging furniture, and tripping over blankets and chair legs, Stiles stood back and admired his creation.

It was a little bit crooked and took up most of the living room floor, but Stiles was reasonably sure that it was structurally sound. The interior was cozy and dark, and the layer of pillows he'd placed on the carpet were more than comfy enough.

He'd snapped the top off of one of their rarely-used TV trays to set his laptop on and was crouched awkwardly in the middle of the pillows trying to find the best spot to put it when the doorbell rang.

Once Stiles had the pizza, garlic knots, and soda stowed safely on the bottom shelf of the coffee table next to the roll of paper towel he'd snagged from the kitchen earlier, he went to get Malia.

She was still sitting at his desk, flipping idly through his history textbook. Her coat, hat, and mittens were in a pile beside the chair, but she was still wearing her gloves and scarf. Stiles gave her a pair of his sweat pants and a hoodie to change into and swapped his jeans and button down for a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

"Is this the part where you make me close my eyes and then try to not fall down the stairs?" Malia asked, eyeing him suspiciously and dumping her jeans and sweater on top of her abandoned coat.

"You don't have to close your eyes, but you do need to carry this," Stiles replied, yanking the comforter off of his bed and shoving it into Malia's arms. Stiles grabbed his pillow and his computer and bounded out of the room.

Now that it was time to actually show her what he'd been up to, Stiles was nervous.

"Look, before you say anything let me explain," Stiles blurted out, stopping just outside the living room doorway and trying to block Malia's view of what was inside. "Scott and I used to do this all the time when we were younger. When one of us had a bad day, we'd hide out and watch movies or play video games until whatever it was that was bothering us seemed a little less shitty. I know it's dumb, but I figured that maybe you could use a place to hide for a while, so..."

Stiles backed out of the way, and Malia burst out laughing.

"You built a fort." Still clutching the comforter to her chest, Malia knelt at the opening and peered inside.

"I did. I built a fort." Stiles watched her crawl inside, relieved that she seemed amused so far. "Do you like it? It's not, y'know, ridiculous?"

Malia poked her head out and gave him a wry smile. "Oh, this is without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. I can't believe you actually took the time to do this."

The words themselves weren't all that encouraging, but her tone was light and teasing. Stiles took a few hesitant steps towards the entrance. "Not exactly a glowing review, but I'll take it."

Leaning forward, Malia grabbed a fistful of Stiles' pant leg and tugged. "It's perfect, Stiles. Now, get in here before the pizza gets cold."

Stiles handed her the laptop, waiting for her to retreat further into the fort before joining her. Setting his pillow against the sofa, he reached over and switched on the battery powered lantern he'd set on the wooden chair beside the coffee table. It was surprisingly bright considering its size, easily filling the space with light.

"Pick a movie," Stiles instructed, lifting the edge of the guest room comforter to reveal a row doors along the bottom of the entertainment center. "I'm gonna go lock up."

Night had fallen while Stiles had been busy. Cloud cover smothered the moon and stars, leaving only the faint orange glow of the streetlamps. Once the house was secure and all the lights were off, he made his way back to Malia.

"Plug me in," she called, tossing the end of his laptop's power cable out from between a pair of quilts. Stiles found an empty slot in the power bar between the Bluray player and the TV. _Thank you werewolf night vision._

Stiles pulled the fleece throw that served as their door over the gap he'd left between two chairs, cutting them off from the outside world. Malia handed him his copy of _Iron Man_ and turned her attention to the pizza.

Moving carefully to avoid disturbing the blankets, Stiles got the DVD going and stretched out on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows so he could stuff his face while he watched. Malia mirrored his position, and the werewolves made short work of their dinner.

When the movie was over, Stiles took the empty boxes and cans into the kitchen and put on the sequel. It was well after midnight when the second movie ended, and Stiles could barely keep his eyes open. Malia had been yawning since Tony's birthday party.

"I think that's enough for tonight," he said, flipping the laptop closed and shoving both it and the tray under the table. Malia hummed in agreement, rolling onto her side beneath Stiles' comforter and dragging his pillow towards them, effectively turning the floor of the fort into a bed.

They'd switched the lantern off a few minutes into the first movie, and without the glow of the laptop, it was pitch black inside their little den. Stiles settled in beside Malia, looping an arm around her waist. She trailed her fingers along his chest and up his neck until they curled around his jaw, pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss. She tasted like garlic and olives, which should have been a little off-putting. Instead, Stiles slid his hands into her hair, holding her close and sealing their mouths together until they were both breathless.

"Thank you for this," she whispered against his lips. "And for being there today."

"I'm sorry things worked out the way they did," Stiles whispered back. "What happened wasn't your fault. Give him some time, and he'll see that for himself."

"Maybe. And maybe one day I'll actually believe that."

"I'll be here to remind you until you do," Stiles promised, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

~ ~ ~

Either the sheriff hadn't noticed the monstrosity occupying his living room when he came home from work early the next morning, or he'd just been too tired to care. Stiles guessed the latter. He'd have to wait to find out since his dad had gone straight up to bed.

It was after ten when the teens hidden away inside said monstrosity woke up again. Stiles was in no hurry to move. Malia was tucked against his side, head on his chest and a leg thrown across his hips. He stared up at the flower pattern suspended above his head, listening to his father's soft snores. It was kind of scary just how quickly Stiles had gotten used to his werewolf senses.

It had barely been a month since Scott had given him the bite to chase the Nogitsune out of his body and fix the dementia that had already started to cripple his mind, but already it was second nature for him to search out signs of his dad's presence in the house as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning.

Stiles had started to drift off again when Malia finally stirred. She gave Stiles a drowsy smile, reaching up to push her fingers through his hair.

"This is a good look for you," she said teasingly.

Stiles huffed out a laugh and shoved gently at her arm. It had been awhile since his hair had been long enough to achieve anything resembling bed head. He'd forgotten how scary looking it could get. It made the mornings when he over slept - which these days was most mornings - just that much more fun when he had to take the time to manipulate it into some semblance of order before running out the door.

"You're one to talk." Malia sat up and shook her head, sending her sleep-mussed curls bouncing around her face. Between that, her oversized top, and the mascara smudged around her eyes, the result looked like something out of a 1980's music video. Stiles told her as much, and Malia responded by shoving him out of the fort and ordering him to make her apology pancakes.

Stiles was happy to oblige. His pancakes were nothing short of spectacular. Saving some of the batter in the fridge for his dad to eat later, Stiles cooked up a giant stack for each of them while Malia moved the sheriff's case files off to one side of the table and liberated a pair of chairs from the fort.

They'd made it most of the way through their respective plates when Stiles' phone rang, flashing Derek's name across the screen.

"Yo," Stiles said around a mouthful of pancake. "This better be important."

" _Put her on the phone._ "

Across the table, Malia's eyebrows shot up. She could hear the voice on the other line just as clearly as Stiles could. He swallowed and sighed. So much for a nice, quiet breakfast.

"Does Derek know you have his phone?"

" _He asked nicely,_ " came Derek's annoyed voice from somewhere in the background.

"Oh, you asked nicely. Well in that case..." Stiles replied, sarcastically.

" _For once in your life, could you just do as your told?_ " Peter ground out. Malia scowled and held her hand out for the phone. Stiles cocked his head, a wordless _sure you don't want me to hang up on him?_ Malia wiggled her outstretched fingers in a give-it-here gesture. Stiles shrugged and passed the cell off to her.

"What do you want, Peter?" she snapped.

" _I thought you should know that I'm going to see your father this afternoon._ " To his credit, Peter only sounded kind of disdainful about having to call Tate the 'F' word.

"What the hell for?" Malia demanded, gripping the phone so tightly Stiles was afraid she was going to break it. He reached over their plates to grab her free hand, hoping it would calm her down a little.

" _Well for starters, I should probably apologize for sleeping with his wife._ " Malia and Stiles exchanged horrified glances, Derek's muffled _For fuck sakes, Peter_ a suitable response for all three of them.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled," Malia said dryly, finding her voice again. "Just don't expect me to help pick buckshot out of your stupid ass once he finishes with you."

Peter chuckled. " _I'll keep that in mind._ "

"Good. Are we done?"

" _Not quite._ " There was a long pause, and when Peter spoke again, Stiles had to strain to hear him. " _Malia, I won't insult you by pretending that I would have been there for you had I known. But I swear to you that I wouldn't have let things turn out the way that they did. I would have made sure you knew what you were and what was in store for you. I would have protected you._ "

"I'd like to believe that," Malia said softly.

" _I hope one day you will. I can just imagine the things you've heard about me. I'm sure most of them are even true. I'm a lot of things, Malia, but I'm not a fool. I don't expect you to love me. I'd just like the chance to earn your forgiveness. Convincing the man who raised you to give you back your freedom seems like a good place to start._ "

Stiles was staring at Malia in stunned silence. Double talk and manipulation were Peter's best talents, and Stiles had been around for enough of his bullshit over the last year to know how dangerous it was to trust anything that came out of his mouth. But Peter sounded sincere enough for Stiles to wonder if maybe the tiny shred of soul Peter still possessed was finally making itself known.

"Will you come by the loft afterward?" Malia asked, keeping her voice even despite the fact she looked like she wanted to cry. Stiles squeezed her hand, and she gave him a small smile in return.

" _Of course,_ " Peter promised. " _I'll see you then._ "

"See you then," Malia echoed, ending the call. She let out a shaky breath. "What the hell just happened?"

"No clue."

"I should have told him not to go over there. Dad is going to lose his mind when Peter shows up at his door," Malia moaned, slumping over and resting her forehead against the edge of the table.

"Provided your dad doesn't actually shoot him on site, this could actually be a really good thing," Stiles told her. "Talking is what Peter does. If anyone can keep you out of Eichen House, it's him."

**Author's Note:**

> I skimmed _Anchors_ and _More Bad Than Good_ , and it seems Malia is the only Tate with a first name. Very annoying. **EDIT: One of them now has a name!**
> 
> Also, I have a lot of complicated feelings about Peter Hale, and this storyline is so not helping.


End file.
